


Nurse Reed's Duty Shift

by Britpacker



Series: Making It Real [6]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Commander Tucker’s had a nasty accident.  Lucky for him Doctor Phlox has such a diligent assistant to watch over the patient when he’s away.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** I've been feeling pretty rough for the past couple of days. It's just a pity I don't have a Malcolm to care for me!

His mouth tasted weird.

His head was being squeezed between two starships.

Something was crushing his hand.

Trip knew he'd parted his lips; he could feel his throat working. But the angry enquiry he knew he was trying to make came out as a rusty groan.

"Trip!" The pressure on his hand eased and somewhere in the functioning corner of his mind he recognised the voice despite its shriller-than-normal tone. Malcolm. His lover Malcolm. Worried.

"Mal, where 'm..."

"Welcome back, Commander." Phlox. Another brain cell kicked into life. That meant he was in Sickbay, right?

Now if he could only remember how he'd got there!

Opening his eyes proved trickier than he expected, and the figures that swayed over him were blurred. "Malcolm?" he tried, bringing up a wobbly hand toward the nearest human-shaped blob. When feather-light lips brushed across it, he knew he had guessed right. 

"There are more humane ways of killing a chap than throwing yourself off the reactor you know, Mistah Tuckah," the beloved British voice observed, aiming for dry and ending up, Tucker noted dreamily, almost whiney. _Reactor? What reactor?_

"You're heavily medicated, Commander, it's inevitable your memory of recent events is a little hazy."

Damn, the Denobulan was loud! "'s not hazy," he grumbled, shutting out the violence of Sickbay's lights with a dip of the eyelids. "Can't remember anythin'. Mal..."

"You were working on the upper level when we took a hit from a significant chunk of space-junk, Commander." 

_Commander? Oh, yeah. Malcolm's been frightened. Always gets formal when he's trying not to sound shit-scared._

Scared for him. Suddenly it wasn't just Phlox's favourite multi-spectrum pain relief critter making him light-headed. "'m okay. Jus' sore."

"Considering that you fell from the upper level, that's not surprising, but the broken bones are already knitting nicely. You just have to lay still and rest, Commander; let your body do the work of recovering itself. And - try not to look down. I realise you're not fond of my _freaky collection of creepy-crawlies_ , but this little fellow is the most efficient pain-reliever in the quadrant, as Lieutenant Reed of all people can testify."

"It's also one of the least appealing, Doctor." Still, Malcolm gave the small soft-shelled snail a gentle rub with the pad of his thumb, an odd, affectionate little salute that in his bemused state made Trip's gritty eyes tear up. "You cracked a couple of ribs, crunched your collarbone, dislocated two fingers and bruised your entire left side, if you're interested, and no: nobody else was hurt. Seems only the Chief Engineer was balancing on one leg while stretching over the guard rail."

"Oops." Yes, Trip remembered; he'd been stretching to reach an especially awkward power coupling _(ship was designed by apes, I told Johnny that in spacedock)_ when Enterprise had turned into a rodeo ride. "T'Pol's gonna tan my hide when I get outta here."

He thought he heard a soft, unmistakably British, harrumph. "If there's anything left," Malcolm muttered. Blindly, he waved a hand in the direction of that husky voice.

"Sorry to've scared y', darlin'. Doc, I can handle a little pain, you wanna git that thing off me now?"

"Commander..."

"If he wants to be stubborn, Phlox, I suggest you oblige him."

Despite the fogginess in his skull Trip recognised the latent menace beneath his lover's quiet submission. When the doctor tsked and obeyed, he even understood it - if only through the haze of pain that erupted from his abused chest and battered left side 

"Ow! Sonofabitch, that hurts!"

"Perhaps you'll allow me to do my job now, Commander."

British smugness, to which he was thoroughly accustomed, Trip found adorable. The Denoublan variety, when a man's extremities were in agony, was just goddamn annoying, and the application of something cold and slimy to his chest, while it dimmed the roar of pain, didn't decrease his irritation levels at all. "Better?"

The edges of his vision were blurring, but so was the hammering across his ribcage. "Uuuuh."

"I'll translate that as a yes." 

_Goddamn smug aliens_ , Trip thought, sliding back toward unconsciousness as the animal's secretion seeping through his skin began to have its effect. His fingers clenched around the long, slim ones of his lover as if they were an anchor. "Don't wanna... stay with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere." These vigils were too common for both men. Malcolm folded himself onto the low stool Phlox had provided, rhythmically stroking the Southerner's lax hand. "You'll be back on your feet and driving us bonkers in no time, Mistah Tuckah: am I right?"

"Mmm, yessir." The pain, Trip realised dozily, was almost gone. In fact he felt like he was floating; as if the firm biobed under his butt were as fluffy as a cloud. His boyfriend's leathery palm was rubbing against his, soft breaths huffing over his face as Malcolm leaned in to brush warm, smiling lips across his damp brow. "Love you, Malcolm."

Distantly he heard Phlox's dark chocolate chuckle. "Sorry, din't mean t' embarrass y'," he mumbled.

"I'm fascinate - oh, I apologise, you were talking to Mr Reed of course." That weird scratchy sound was Phlox rubbing his hands with glee, he decided. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I promised to report to the bridge with the good news as soon as Commander Tucker regained consciousness. You'll keep an eye on our patient, Lieutenant?"

"Certainly." The immediacy of the reply brought Trip's eyelashes up off his cheeks, his view of those sharp-angled features left fuzzy by the effect of Phlox's creepy medication. "Sssshhh, it's all right. You can trust me you know, Commander."

"With m' life." Phlox's rubber soles squeaked on the deck plating; he heard the familiar hiss and whoosh of the door. Then, much closer, the sound he loved best in the galaxy: Malcolm Reed's low, incredibly sexy laugh.

"Alone at last," the Englishman breathed, tracing his tongue around the delicate shell of his boyfriend's ear. "You give me a scare like that again anytime in the next - oh, fifty years - and I'll extract your ribs without anaesthetic and give 'em to Chef to barbecue in sticky sauce, understood?"

"Mmmm-hmmm." The wet muscle continued its lazy way down the sensitive side of his neck and Trip wriggled, another soft hum escaping. "'s nice, Mal."

Soft lips parted to suckle tenderly at the base of his throat. "And that?"

"Oh, yeah." The slight sting of teeth against yielding flesh was muted through his drugged haze. "Do that again."

"Mmm," Careful to minimise the pressure Malcolm obliged, lifting his head to meet a dopey smile that took his breath away. "Can't mark you. Phlox'd have my guts for garters."

"They'd be real pretty ones."Those delectable fingers were skittering over his torso, dancing around the strapping applied to his damaged ribs, and like a newborn kitten he answered blindly to each touch. A brief kiss was applied closer to the snail than Trip would ordinarily have deemed safe, but lost in a pain-free, fluffy fog, he didn't give it a thought. "Everythin' about you's so pretty."

"Hmm, thank you - I think." Ticklish fingers played at the waistband of his boxers then flat palms swept across to rest on his thighs, bypassing a pain-reliever Phlox had never considered by millimetres. "Feeling better?"

"Feel jus' grand darlin'" He ."as dimly aware he sounded slurry. Then Malcolm's fingertips slipped under the hem of his shorts and he forgot to care.

"That's good to hear." Deftly the brunet disconnected the assortment of readouts Phlox had fixed up to his partner's bed, the small delay earning him a whimper and a feeble lift of the hips. "Ssshhh, it's all right: just don't want to bring the doctor running when your heart rate goes off the scale. Nurse Malcolm will make the nasty pain go away, all right?"

"Nice nurse." _Pain? What pain?_

He lifted a heavy arm to hug his carer and the question was answered. "Ow!"

"Lie still and let me pleasure you." Malcolm's voice was pure honey that seeped through the mists engulfing him. Trip felt the soft scratch of his skivvies being slid down below his knees and sighed, wantonly spreading his legs as far as their fabric restraints would allow. The caressing tone melted into a rolling chuckle.

"Mmmm, _very_ nice."

Then a hot, silky mouth descended on his swelling dick, and further speech was impossible for either man. Malcolm's hand lay lax on Trip's hip, the light pressure enough to restrain the groggy engineer's movement while his tongue swirled and his teeth scraped at every special spot. Phlox wouldn't be gone long but then, in this weakened, snail-doped state, Trip wouldn't need much work to send him slipping over the edge into the kind of dreamless, boneless rest his battered body desperately needed.

Trip was in heaven. Warmth flowed sluggishly out of his crotch, licking over tender balls which tightened with delicious pain as they were suckled and rolled against that talented tongue before cold air stung sharply enough to send another pulse to his toes. With corkscrew licks and deep, heady sucks Malcolm set a thrilling rhythm and he let his sticky eyes drift shut, every sense focussed on the gentle heat rolling through him. 

Soft sighs barely impinged on Sickbay's tranquillity, merging into the bleats, cheeps and rustles of the menagerie off to one side of the room. Everything beyond the sweet suction of his lover's mouth had melted, leaving Trip to float in a pain-free pastel paradise, each tendril of pleasure that escaped his devoured dick swaying out to the ends of his fingers and toes. Dreamily he breathed his partner's name, the second syllable a near-sob as the precipice yawned beneath him and he tumbled, waves of golden bliss washing over him with every flex of the muscles around his spurting length. His hips moved lazily under Malcolm's palm, the sweet mouth working him up to the pinnacle and safely, ever-so-softly, down to the other side.

"Oooohhh, 's good," he mumbled, burrowing his buttocks down into the biobed as his dick slipped, wet and slack, from his boyfriend's glistening lips. "'m gonna sleep now babe, 'kay?"

"You do that, pet." The tit-for-tat unappreciated endearment got a snuffle before Trip Tucker slid seamlessly from dozy satiation into deep and healing sleep. Easing his man's boxers back to their proper position Malcolm drew a thin sheet up to cover the bandaged ribs and stretched, pressing a kiss to a forehead no longer creased with pain. Carefully adjusting the crotch of his uniform, he swayed around the bed to place its bulk between the sole remaining evidence of his unconventional nursing style and the door, his sharp ear quick to detect approaching voices in the corridor. 

Swiftly he reattached Phlox's array of sensors to the bed and leaned down as if he had spent the doctor's absence tenderly stroking his partner's dark blond hair. "Excellent, he's sleeping comfortably!" the Denobulan exclaimed in a stage whisper, while Archer and T'Pol peered over his shoulders at the unconscious man. "I should prescribe you to all my patients, Lieutenant: it's unusual for the victims of this kind of physical trauma to relax so completely after first coming 'round."

The last remnant of his erection deflated faster than a popped balloon. "Oh, I doubt my presence would have the same effect on the rest of the crew, Doctor," Malcolm drawled, trying not to let his shoulders sag from sheer relief when Archer chuckled and the tip of one Vulcan eyebrow twitched in the closest their First Officer would come to an expression of amusement. "If you'll excuse me, Captain - Commander. You'll call me when he wakes of course?"

"At the first sign, Lieutenant." Greatly daring, Phlox clapped him hard on the shoulder. "He'll be fine, Malcolm," he added more quietly - more seriously, the Englishman realised, unexpected emotion welling at his friend's kind gesture. "I'll release him to quarters before lunchtime, so get some sleep. He may be a more forbearing occupant of this room than certain _other_ senior officers, but I imagine your Mister Tucker will enjoy playing the invalid in the privacy of his own."

"I couldn't possibly comment, Phlox." The low rumble of Jonathan Archer's laughter followed him up to the door, shutting off abruptly once he was alone in the corridor.

Then the light-headedness, an instantly diagnosable confection of recent fright and lingering arousal, swayed him sideways. Clutching the cold smoothness of the bulkhead for support, Starfleet's most feared armoury office closed his eyes and sucked in a series of deep, soothing breaths, the familiar mantra spinning its way through his brain. Trip was okay. Just a few broken bones. He'd be home and demanding _cuddles for the brave wounded soldier_ in no time.

What little blood was left in his head deserted the cerebrum for points south and, wobbling slightly, Malcolm set off for his cabin at the fastest hindered waddle he could muster. His mouth had worked wonders on Trip's overtaxed body; now he'd have to see if his hand (in lieu of anything more exciting) could knock him out too. He'd need all his strength - and patience - tomorrow to deal with an invalid as alternately cantankerous and charming as Charles Tucker the Third.


End file.
